G A R E T H
The screeches that pulled from her lungs stole the breath from the cave. They reverberated, echoing back in a cacophony of pain. No matter how much Gareth flattened his radars against his skull the sound penetrated, piercing, ringing. While her vocalizations were foreign to him, it did not take an expert to understand what they meant. He hardened his heart against the noise, knowing that if he allowed himself to be distracted by her that it would only make the work more difficult.
Slowly, it subsided as he finished clearing the last vestiges of infection from the laceration at her joint. He was fairly confident that he had pulled everything from the wound. It was no small miracle that the Teryr had missed her tendons; if those had been severed they would have been dealing with something else entirely. While he had pulled aside his sewing kit to stitch any loose flesh, he found the wound to be relatively clean once fully revealed. He had expected there to be more tearing, more serration. Fortunately, it seemed that the strike from the beast had been swift, precise. Once the infection was pulled from her limb, only the inflammation remained.
He placed a clean hot linen over the wound, protecting it as he made yet another paste from the bundle of hers he had first brought to her. “I’m going to place these inside,” he explained, keeping his eyes on the task at hand. He knew that if he looked to her before he was finished that part of his resolve would break, and she would not benefit from his softness. Gareth was a healer, but sometimes that meant causing pain and that was something he always found hard to reconcile with. “They should help keep any further infection at bay and help with the tenderness. I’ll want to stitch the wound closed before we leave, but I need the swelling to go down and to know that I’m not trapping any further toxins in there when I do it.”
He slathered the poultice inside the wound, and while he knew that it would sting, there would soon be relief. He tore another strip from the blanket he had been using for bandages and carefully wrapped her limb, trying to be mindful of the way her joints moved. “You’ll need to stay off of it as best you can,” he said. “At least until I can pull your flesh back together. It’ll also prevent you from swelling the wound with overwork." His words were quiet, gentle. He had caused her so much pain, but it had been so that she would not suffer further. So that she would not lose the limb entirely.
The stallion’s chocolate body was slick with sweat, from the heat of the fire and the stress of the procedure as well as the mountain climb. He was exhausted, his hide trembling. Still, there was more work to be done. He needed to fetch them more water for drinking. He knew that with the screaming, Pangaea’s throat would have been raw. She had mentioned not being a true carnivore- perhaps there was something within his stores that would satisfy her.
Shakily, the medic rose to his feet, swaying a moment before steadying himself. “How do you feel about peaches,” he asked, moving over to one of the stone shelves, his steps heavy, dirty feathers dragging on the cave floor.
Slowly, it subsided as he finished clearing the last vestiges of infection from the laceration at her joint. He was fairly confident that he had pulled everything from the wound. It was no small miracle that the Teryr had missed her tendons; if those had been severed they would have been dealing with something else entirely. While he had pulled aside his sewing kit to stitch any loose flesh, he found the wound to be relatively clean once fully revealed. He had expected there to be more tearing, more serration. Fortunately, it seemed that the strike from the beast had been swift, precise. Once the infection was pulled from her limb, only the inflammation remained.
He placed a clean hot linen over the wound, protecting it as he made yet another paste from the bundle of hers he had first brought to her. “I’m going to place these inside,” he explained, keeping his eyes on the task at hand. He knew that if he looked to her before he was finished that part of his resolve would break, and she would not benefit from his softness. Gareth was a healer, but sometimes that meant causing pain and that was something he always found hard to reconcile with. “They should help keep any further infection at bay and help with the tenderness. I’ll want to stitch the wound closed before we leave, but I need the swelling to go down and to know that I’m not trapping any further toxins in there when I do it.”
He slathered the poultice inside the wound, and while he knew that it would sting, there would soon be relief. He tore another strip from the blanket he had been using for bandages and carefully wrapped her limb, trying to be mindful of the way her joints moved. “You’ll need to stay off of it as best you can,” he said. “At least until I can pull your flesh back together. It’ll also prevent you from swelling the wound with overwork." His words were quiet, gentle. He had caused her so much pain, but it had been so that she would not suffer further. So that she would not lose the limb entirely.
The stallion’s chocolate body was slick with sweat, from the heat of the fire and the stress of the procedure as well as the mountain climb. He was exhausted, his hide trembling. Still, there was more work to be done. He needed to fetch them more water for drinking. He knew that with the screaming, Pangaea’s throat would have been raw. She had mentioned not being a true carnivore- perhaps there was something within his stores that would satisfy her.
Shakily, the medic rose to his feet, swaying a moment before steadying himself. “How do you feel about peaches,” he asked, moving over to one of the stone shelves, his steps heavy, dirty feathers dragging on the cave floor.
"Speech" || @Pangaea |
